Her voice was very small.

She stood barefoot on the linoleum and started nervously twisting her socks with her toes.

“You’re okay,” I said.

“I’m going to take this up to the bathroom sink.”

“She still needs limits,” my mother said.

“Take her up too.

She needs to learn there are consequences for making a mess.”

Vanessa shifted her weight against the stainless steel refrigerator door.